Flavors
by shipperfey
Summary: “Tell me what do you want, Buffy. Lapdog Spike, Demon Spike, Nice Spike, Mean Spike, Sex-Toy Spike. Take your bloody pick, but make up your damn mind this time, pet.” Revised April, 2008.


**Title: Flavors**  
**Author:** Alice J. Foster (a.k.a. shipperfey)

**Summary: **"Tell me what do you want, Buffy. Lapdog Spike, Demon Spike, Nice Spike, Mean Spike, Sex-Toy Spike. Take your bloody pick, but make up your damn mind this time, pet." _Revised April, 2008._  
**Character(s)/Pairing(s): **Spike/Buffy  
**Category: **angst, romance  
**Spoilers:** Season 7, Get It Done  
**Rating:** PG-13

_Your love is better than ice cream_  
_Better than anything else that I've tried_  
_And your love is better than ice cream_  
_Everyone here know how to fight_

Ice Cream, by Sarah McLachlan

Buffy winced with every noise that came from the bathroom.

She could hear the house plumbing groaning tiredly, as it was used for the hundredth time in the past twenty-four hours. At least Spike had waited until all the Potentials had gone to bed.

Xander, Andrew and Spike, the only males at Casa Summers, were always the ones who had the most trouble getting bathroom usage time, in a house dominated by the opposite sex. Buffy had grown accustomed to having the vampire showering in the middle of the night, the mundane sounds coming from the next room a contrast to the absurdity of living arrangements in the house.

A male hiss made the hair in the back of Buffy's neck stand. The clock on her dresser informed her that it was five in the morning - what was that in vampire time? Tea-time? dinner? supper?

As the water stopped running, she thought of getting up and doing a quick patrol of the rooms around her. Never know when the First Evil could attack again.

From he master bedroom, Buffy could hear the potentials that were camping in her old room snoring; she was relieved they were getting some rest… they were always on edge, and more girls still arrived almost daily.

The most recent arrivals looked petrified. Buffy feared for them; the potentials were nothing but scared teenagers with a dark destiny: slayerdom or death, possibly both.

Everyone was scared - Anya, Xander, Dawn, Willow. She could see it in Giles' eyes too. The watcher was terrified. And then there was Andrew with his geeky suggestions and utter fear, complaining redemption was hard.

Redemption… Spike. The words still seemed so foreign together, but she was learning to deal.

Buffy kicked off the covers, and reached for her robe before walking towards the door that separated her room from the bathroom that Spike occupied.

Her hand raised, ready to knock on the door but she stopped it midway. He undoubtedly already knew she was there, what with his vampirey senses. Buffy tried for the knob and, turning it, found the door unlocked.

Typical Spike. Couldn't he even lock a door properly?

It felt like the world was moving in slow motion until she saw him. He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, shirt off and cleaning his bruises.

Buffy just stood in the doorway as she watched him.

Spike, in turn, didn't acknowledge her presence, concentrating in peeling away the dried blood scabs and letting his vampire healing patch up the alabaster skin.

The water beneath him was pink in its color, like blood gone soft. Some fledglings would do that during winter in areas where it got too cold to hunter; they'd dilute the blood of their victims to make it last more. Not Spike though; he would simply take Dru away, and hunt for fresher victims. After all, a nice Catholic family back then would last them weeks - no need for rationing.

His right shoulder was in a bad shape, he realized with another hiss. The skin was bruised so badly in some places that it would probably take a few more hours until it was fully healed.

Behind him, he heard Buffy gasp as she saw the extent of his injuries.

Spike pulled the drain, letting the pinkish water run away into the heart of the Sunnydale Sewage System. Standing up, he reached for his clothes in silence. The black shirt hugged his upper body like it always did; the duster felt like a worn out armor in his hands.

As he reached for the door that led back to the hallway, Buffy must've realized he was ignoring her because she finally spoke.

"Spike-"

Just a whisper and she'd made him freeze.

Buffy stared at the floor for several seconds. From the corner of her eye she could see Spike's hand poised at the doorknob, ready to turn.

What should she say? What _could_ she say?

The sound of the doorknob turning rang loudly in her Slayer ears, causing Buffy to wince. "Don't go," her voice ordered in a commanding tone with underlying begging.

"Came to throw more punches, luv? 'm not up to it." The harshness in his voice cut her deeper than any weapon ever had.

"I'm sorry." But she wasn't. At least not for demanding the old Spike back.

"Doesn't make a difference to me, Slayer." It did. It still mattered so much that it made his soul burn.

Spike turned around to face her and saw that her lips were swollen from where she'd bit them. He hated seeing it, seeing the fear and sense of helplessness behind her eyes. He wondered how many other people she allowed to see that; not Dawn or the potentials… maybe Willow or Giles.

Was she ever fragile around the principal? Did she ever look at the staunch man with fearful eyes that made him wish to be able to save her?

Maybe she only reserved those eyes for this vampire. The thought warmed and chilled him in equal proportions.

"What do we do now?" She had to go with the shaky voice again. He could deal with the anger-clad speeches, but desperation never suited her well.

"I don't know, Buffy. I'm just the vampire with the soul." He replied caustically.

There were tears in her eyes now and they stung the back of her throat. "Stop it. I don't want to fight."

Within seconds Spike was in front of her, pinning her to the wall without touching any part of her body. His hands shot out to press against the wall next to her head. "Tell me what do you want, Buffy. Lapdog Spike, Demon Spike, Nice Spike, Mean Spike, Sex-Toy Spike. Take your bloody pick, but make up your damn mind this time, pet. Am I not useful enough? Or maybe you only liked another vampire's soul; this one's not good enough for you. Is that it? You should've let me know sooner, pet. Maybe I could've bargained a refund with the soul-dealer."

Buffy blinked and stared at him through tears. "That's not it."

Spike cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it? Tell me, since when do you get off on hurting the people around you with your words? Not that I'm not used to that treatment myself."

"I don't _want_ to hurt anyone. I'm just tired of seeing death and being afraid! These girls are gonna die. They need to know what they're gonna face. The First doesn't sugar coat its words when it talks to them; why should we? I'm not gonna lie to them anymore, Spike."

Something flashed behind Spike's eyes and Buffy frowned. She could see wildness and pain clearly; it almost reminded her of the night that things went badly in that bathroom.

_He had a soul now._

"What about yourself, Slayer?"

Buffy frowned, closed her eyes and shook her head. "Wha--?"

"Still gonna lie to yourself, luv?" His voice was hoarse against her face, but low enough not to wake any occupants of the upper floor.

"Wh--" Buffy started. She gulped down before trying again. "What does it matter?"

"You're right. Maybe it doesn't." With that the arms that surrounded her were gone and he was moving away. She couldn't-- she didn't want that.

A strong and petite arm shot out to hold him and Spike closed his eyes in defeat. Then it didn't matter why he had closed his eyes in the first place, because her lips were against his.

"Please," she begged between kisses, "...don't leave."

The soul burned again and his undead heart clenched. "Can't," he whispered back.

She looked at him with lost eyes, and he knew she didn't understand why.

Her voice was small when she spoke again. "I'm scared."

Spike could taste her fear the moment her mouth met his, but it was so bitter he hadn't wanted to acknowledge it.

"I can't keep anyone alive. And I'm terrified I'll let everyone else see how scared I am."

He voiced the question in his mind: "Why are you telling me this?"

She looked away before she replied. "Because you're strong."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"I meant what I said earlier, Spike. I need you to be dangerous and I need you to be able to kill. You're the only one who can protect these girls like me - the one I need. Bring out old Spike, because he's part of you. Remember those lessons you taught me years ago outside the Bronze, about how you killed those other Slayers--because that's how we're gonna beat this thing. Evil is part of us and smothering it is only gonna make us more vulnerable."

"There was no Spike in that alley, luv. It was all William. It's been William all along. Spike is nothing but a fancy nickname to cover up what I didn't want seen."

"No, it's not. You're Spike. Spike tried to kill me, and Spike helped me defeat Angelus. It was Spike who learned how to exist with the chip, and it was Spike who went after the soul. You think I don't know the difference, but I do. William isn't strong enough to defeat this; he never was. I need Spike," she said meeting his eyes. "I need you."

Spike ached to disagree, but didn't.

Buffy sighed. "Evil Spike, Good Spike, Attitude Spike. Any and every single flavor that can help us win."

"Last time I was evil in this bathroom, I hurt you."

"Last time we were together in this bathroom, we hurt each other."

"And now?"

Buffy shrugged. "Now we hurt _it._"

"Thought you were scared of it..." Spike pointed out.

"I am… Terrified."

"But--?"

"They chose a scared girl to be the first Slayer. But she had the potential for the power beneath it all. I don't need demon mist to win this; I have strength. But I also need help."

"I'll fight 'till I'm dust... you know it."

Buffy's lower lip quivered at his words. "I don't want you to be dust, Spike. I told you, I need you to fight and I need you to win."

He wanted to tell her that sometimes dying in battle was much more glamorous than surviving it. All those 147 nights when he wished he'd been the one who didn't make it.

Buffy reached out to touch his torso. "I know people are gonna die. Let's just keep it to a minimum, okay?"

"I should go, luv. The house should wake up in no time."

"Stay," she whispered.

It seemed enough that she could admit her need for him.

Spike dropped his head and nodded, making his face rub against Buffy's.

Spike stared at her for a few seconds before adding, "They're probably gonna invade the basement for some training. Might find it weird not seeing me there."

But Giles had been right. This wasn't time for relationships-- but it was time to fight back.

She'd never tell him that he held so much of her ability to be strong. So much he would never know.

Buffy breathed in the old smell of leather that had returned to his body. "Let them look for you."

Apocalypse number seven - or was it eight? - was coming their way. It'd taken her this long to admit to herself she needed this; she wasn't letting it go now - letting him go now.

"You sure, Buffy?" He asked with cautious eyes; eyes that had been hurt one too many times.

Buffy shook her head slightly. "No," she admitted. She pushed him away slightly before offering her hand and gesturing to her room. "Help me be sure."

And he did.

**the end**

_last revision: __04/26/2008_

**Author's Note (added ****4/26/2008****): **I could not, for the life of me, verify if the Summers' house has two bathrooms upstairs, or if it's just one jack-and-jill style bathroom with two doors (one door from the master bedroom and one door from the hallway). Considering the one bathroom we've _seen_ is HUGE, I figured it was just one, but if I'm wrong I hope this slight mistake didn't keep you from enjoying this story.


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